


What's Right in Front of Him

by scrunchycolfer



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 12:38:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4835684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrunchycolfer/pseuds/scrunchycolfer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When they reach the safe haven, they all suffer from a little bit of PTSD. Waking in the night from horrible dreams is almost normal. But at least they have each other to make everything better.<br/>Or, shameless smut with a lot of feelings in an AU where nobody died.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's Right in Front of Him

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is established relationship Thominewt in the safe haven after the books end. In this version of the story, nobody dies and nobody isn't immune. It's not important to know how that works for this particular story though. Just... sit back and enjoy some smut.

 

“Minho. _Minho_!”

Thomas’ frantic voice jerks him awake.

For a moment, plunged into sudden darkness after the brightly lit horror of his nightmares, he can’t breathe. His heart is pounding, his breath heavy. Bits and pieces of half formed dreams are still flashing through his mind.

“Minho?” Thomas says, voice softening with relief. “Are you okay?”

“I’m-” He shakes his head a little, and then realises his entire body is trembling.

Searching the inky dark, he manages to make out vague shapes. Two people hover at the side of his bed. Thomas sitting, the other standing behind him. Instantly, the sight calms him.

“You were dreaming again.” Newt’s voice comes from behind Thomas. He sounds agonised.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” Minho manages, embarrassed. His voice is horse. He wonders how long he was screaming before they shook him into consciousness.

“Hey, don’t worry about it.” Newt scolds gently. “We all get nightmares.”

His silhouette moves as he crouches at Thomas’ side. Minho untangles his hands from the blankets just as Newt reaches out for him, clasping them tightly in his own. The warmth makes Minho feel grounded, and he instantly wants to pull him closer.

At the same time, Thomas’ weight shifts off the bed.

“Where-?” Minho starts to ask, immediately worried.

“He’s getting the light.” Newt assures him before he can even finish asking. He squeezes Minho’s hand

The lamp at the side of the bed flickers on, and the two faces he loves most in the world light up in warm golden light. He lets out a breath at the sight of them. Newt is still clutching his hands, that adorable concerned frown gracing his face. Thomas has turned back from the lamp already, and he takes up his place on the edge of the bed, handsome as ever. His hair is still tousled from sleep. They look beautiful together, side by side. Two sets of brown eyes locked on his own. Sometimes he wonders how long he could spend just looking at them and not getting bored.

Minho almost laughs at how sappy he can be. At least he manages to keep it inside his own head.

“I love you.” He says.

Okay, so maybe he doesn’t keep _all_ of it inside his own head.

Newt and Thomas both let out a soft chuckle, and almost simultaneously reply.

“We love you too.”

Minho is still quivering a little, but he smiles. He can see a little tension melting from both of them. They exchange a glance.

“Okay move over, my knees are gonna get sore.” Newt says. He nudges Minho upright and clambers onto the bed, pushing the pillow against the headboard so he can lean against it. The instant he’s settled, Minho’s head is resting in his lap.

“There’s no way we can go back to sleep like this.” Minho points out.

“Mm,” Thomas says, the tiniest smile crossing his lips. “Maybe we don’t need to go back to sleep.”

“Oh yeah?” Minho asks, quirking one eyebrow in that smug way that affects both the other boys so beautifully. “Right now?”

“Do you want to take your mind off things?” Newt asks, glancing between him and Thomas, looking excited already.

“Yes please.” Minho says. Even the mention of the dreams brings them uncomfortably close to the surface. Always first and foremost, Newt and Thomas’ faces, contorted in pain, rise straight to the front.

Minho hates how many of those memories he actually has, how many times he’s seen them like that, how clearly he can _still_ see it. Swallowing the history, he focuses instead on what’s right in front of him. Both alive. Both looking at him like they’d do anything to make sure he was okay again. Which is exactly, _exactly_ what he would do for them.

God, he loves them.

Thomas was never the most patient person, and he clearly can’t wait any longer. He tucks his knees up on the bed so he can lean down and hover inches above Minho’s increasingly hungry face. With a soft smile, he leans in for a kiss. Instantaneously, Minho opens his mouth and lets Thomas guide him. Newt’s fingers card through his hair and he hums, pleased, against Thomas’ lips.

When it breaks off, Minho already looks aroused, licking his lips as he keeps his eyes fixed on Thomas.

“Now you two-” He knows there’s no need to finish the sentence. Thomas is already hooking a hand behind Newt’s head and pulling him in for a kiss of his own.

It’s a little hard to see them when he’s lying in Newt’s lap, and Thomas is holding himself upright on one hand as he leans across Minho’s body, their mouths meeting somewhere above his head. But he can see enough for it to make him smile. Newt withdraws one hand from his hair and holds Thomas firmly in place, tugging just slightly on his lower lip with his own mouth. Minho shivers. He knows exactly how _that_ feels.

Thomas shifts himself again pretty quickly, before his arm gives out and he crushes his boyfriend. He climbs up fully onto the bed and straddles Minho’s hips instead, leaning into Newt’s embrace once more.

The hand Newt still has wound in Minho’s dark hair tugs a little tighter. And then Minho can’t just _see_ the effects of the kiss above him. He can feel it. A press against the back of his head. A strain in Newt’s pants.

His smile turns wicked, eyes scrunching in delight, as he pushes back against it, applying the tiniest bit of pressure. And Newt gasps in that beautiful breathless way of his, breaking the kiss.

Thomas easily transitions, letting his lips trail back down Newt’s neck, pulling the neck of his t-shirt away as far as it will go. Usually, at this point, Minho might help him remove their boyfriend’s shirt, but he can’t reach it from this angle. Instead, Newt leans forward enough to tug it off himself.

Thomas sits back on Minho’s thighs again to watch him do it, and his own smile grows wider when he notices Minho’s erection. He resists the urge to grind against it, knowing it’ll be far more satisfying if he lets it build a little longer.

Newt makes quick work of the t-shirt, tossing it to the ground to reveal an expanse of pale skin that Minho can picture without even turning to look.

“Sorry.” Newt says as he jostles Minho, his voice a pitch higher with how turned on he is already. Both of the other boys make eye contact at the sound, as it cuts straight through them.

“Do not apologize for revealing all of that.” Thomas says, the pleasure in his voice taking away from his attempt at a joke.

“And why’s _your_ shirt still on?” Minho demands of him. He can feels Newt’s responding laugh shake his whole body, and the blond boy’s fingers card through his hair again, affectionately, as Thomas quickly complies. His shirt is gone a little more slowly. But there’s something delectable about watching those long eyelashes sweep his cheeks as he focuses on his buttons. Newt and Minho definitely don’t mind the wait.

And then Thomas is on Newt’s neck again, always over eager, kissing lower and lower as Newt lets out increasingly pleading noises beneath him. Minho watches for a while, and then Thomas has come so low he can barely see anything other than the skin of his torso. One of those few moles that colour it is mere inches from his own lips.

 Thomas’ face comes back into view again, and he presses a kiss to Minho’s lips without warning, making him gasp too.

“Pants.” Minho reminds him, rubbing back against Newt. “Get rid of his pants.”

Thomas nods.

“Yeah, shuck those.” And he unbuttons them with ease.

Minho sits up long enough for Newt to shimmy out of them. When they reach his ankles, Thomas takes care of the last few inches and Newt pulls Minho against himself, back to chest, and presses a chaste kiss to his cheek. It’s almost strange how even _that_ can make Minho shiver.

Although that may be partly because he can now feel Newt’s dick against his back.

Just maybe.

Thomas throws the pants aside almost aggressively, and then removes his own as both of his boyfriends watch greedily. Now Minho is the only one wearing anything and he can’t think why he ever thought it was a good idea to wear _clothes_ in the first place. If he wasn’t in loose boxer shorts his dick would be straining far worse by now.

“Kiss Minho again.” Newt suggests cheerfully to their boyfriend. He buries his own face in the side of Minho’s neck, and intersperses soft kisses with grazes of teeth. “He’ll give us a whimper any time now.”

“I’m not going to whimp-” Before he can finish the sentence, Thomas covers his mouth with his own. And Newt nibbles away at the spot right where his neck meets his shoulder. And he whimpers.

Thomas chuckles against his lips. Newt laughs aloud and bites just enough for it to throb a little.

“Shut up.” Minho manages to say, breaking the kiss, and then groaning when Thomas’ lips continue down his jawline.

He hears the soft smack as the other two exchange a quick open-mouthed kiss over his shoulder, and then Thomas’ mouth is heading back down his neck again, toward the dip in his collarbones. He begins unbuttoning Minho’s shirt. With every button, a new inch of skin opens under his attentive kisses.

Newt seems unsure at first where to turn his attention. But then Minho feels the tip of his nose brush the shell of his ear, and he shivers before he’s even whispered a single word.

“You’re so bloody hot, Minho.” Newt nearly growls it. “So _fucking_ hot.”

Minho lets out a rather undignified moan again, and Thomas lets his enthusiastic agreement be known as he closes his mouth over one of Minho’s nipples. There’s just something about Newt’s _voice_ when he gets like this. Well, there’s something about Newt’s voice all the time. But when he’s saying things like _this_ it gets nearly overwhelming.

“I’m not joking. It’s almost _obnoxious_ how good you look.” He lifts a pale hand and trails his fingers, light as he can, across Minho’s chest. At the same time, Thomas begins to move lower again, kissing down the line in the centre of Minho’s abdomen, one button at a time. “Especially like this. _So_ beautiful like this. I can’t wait to see Tommy wrap his lips around your dick.”

“Fuck, Newt.” Thomas groans, stopping his progress. “Oh my god.”

Minho’s hips buck up of their own accord, and Thomas stills them with a firm hand on his thigh. Minho whines again, damn them both.

 “Are you _trying_ to make him come already?” Thomas sounds too far gone to be strict, or even vaguely exasperated. But he looks up at Newt anyway, mouth parted so perfectly Minho could cry.

“I always want to see him come, Tommy.” Newt says it like it should be obvious, and yet Minho has a feeling he’s blushing at the same time. His theory is confirmed when Thomas swallows in a very obvious way, staring at Newt’s lips _._

“Call him Tommy again.” Minho demands, almost surprised the words come out making sense.

Newt leans down and fondly kisses his neck before he obliges.

“Tommy, you may want to hurry up down there, or someone really will come a little early.”

“Anything for you.” Thomas says, and neither can tell if he’s trying to make another joke, or is completely sincere.

Either way, he instantly brushes his lips lower and lower, a quick succession of kisses, almost ripping open the last buttons of Minho’s shirt. Newt pulls the sleeves off his arms with desperate hands and throws the thing to the floor. His palms splay firm across Minho’s exposed skin now, one pressed to his heart, the other on the muscles of his stomach, which are just starting to quiver.

“That’s better.” His breath tickles Minho’s neck. His thumbs rub a gentle rhythm across his skin, back and forth, back and forth, raising goosebumps.

Thomas noses at the soft skin right at the edge of Minho’s boxers, and then slides the offending article of clothing down his legs entirely, letting his dick spring free. He stares at it for a moment, and then uses his hands to ground him, one on each of Minho’s thighs, which have fallen open. With a last soft smile, he looks up to Newt.

“You think he’s ready?” He smirks.

“ _Please_.” Minho is very willing to beg at this point, he tries to push his hips up, closer to his boyfriend’s face, but Thomas’ hands hold him to the bed. His dick throbs. “Thomas, I need-”

“Oh, go on Tommy.” Newt encourages. And Thomas obliges.

His lips brush the base of Minho’s dick first, the tip of his nose nestling into warm skin. Minho lets out another whimper, hips bucking. And this time Thomas’ grip on his thighs relax, giving him room to move, so Minho’s dick brushes his cheek as he pushes up, wanting more.

Newt mouths at his shoulder from behind, light brushes of teeth matching the strokes now picked up by Thomas’ tongue. Minho just lets himself melt back against Newt’s chest, whining desperately, and trying to push up against Thomas’ hands despite how much he enjoys the way they pin him down.

Thomas’ tongue moves up the length of his dick, brushing a sensitive spot on its underside, and he gasps.

“ _Thomas_ ,” His voice comes out a little strangled.

Thomas shifts. One hand releases Minho’s leg so that he can settle it closer to the base of his dick and gently, ever so gently, touch his lips to the tip.

Minho’s hips jerk forward again, and behind him, he can feel his back brush Newt’s own hard dick. Newt moans as well. When Minho falls back into place, his boyfriend rubs his dick forward against his warm weight, rocking both of their bodies toward Thomas.

Thomas opens his mouth to it, taking Minho’s dick inside with practised ease, and Minho’s head falls back onto Newt’s shoulder, jaw slack and eyes squeezed shut just to _feel_ it.

“Come on Minho.” Newt whispers, sending more chills across his skin. “ _Move._ ”

And Minho pushes forward into Thomas’ mouth again, making sure its gentle and giving Thomas time to adjust and react, his warm tongue settling against his dick and those pink lips squeezing just so as he moves in deeper. Behind himself, Minho feels the friction of his body moving against Newt’s, the other boy’s dick pressed between them. He settles into a rhythm; gently forward, Thomas expertly following the movement and working his dick with his mouth, and even, at times, the hand at its base; then pressing back, giving Newt the relief he needs.

Newt’s breath is coming out heavy behind him, and he feels equally breathless, sweat glistening on his muscled chest as they keep going and going and-

“I’m- I’m gonna-” He chokes out, and Thomas opens wider to him, sliding his tongue across the sensitive spot on the underside of his dick, and Newt’s mouth returns to suckle at his shoulder, and he’s coming.

He’s coming and coming and Thomas swallows what he can, some making its way out between his lips and spattering the sheet below. And Minho whines again, loudly, not caring anymore because his brain is full of Thomas and Newt and Newt and Thomas and the way they make him _feel._

And the whimper turns to a throaty moan as he rides down off the peak of the moment, Thomas pulling back off his dick with a wet smack and pumping him with his hand through the last shivers of his orgasm. And Minho is speechless.

But Thomas looks up, come glistening on his lips still, and Newt groans and rocks forward against Minho’s back again. And Minho presses against him, rolling his hips with it, and Thomas licks come off his lips. And Newt tips over the edge.

He swears in surrender and then lets it turn to gasps, high-pitched and breathless, and come bursts warm across Minho’s back, slick between their bodies.

And Minho’s dick almost hurts with how hot Newt’s beautiful, _beautiful_ noises are.

Thomas watches, so pleased with himself, before he crawls up practically onto Minho’s lap, offers him a quick kiss, and then captures Newt’s mouth with his own right as his orgasm finishes. Newt’s contented sigh draws out of him immediately. And in his own satisfied state, Minho brushes his own lips across the nearest bit of Thomas’ skin he can reach, finding a mole on his neck and pressing a kiss to it.

Newt pushes Thomas off himself long enough to grin and say. “Time to take care of _you_ now, Tommy.”

Thomas’ mouth just falls open and he nods meekly.

Minho hands closes around Thomas’ dick. He crawls forward from between Newt’s legs and settles himself at Thomas’ side, his boyfriend between his own legs this time. This way, he can get a good angle and keep mouthing at Thomas’ neck while his hand works his dick. One palm against his back keeps them upright.

Newt moves too, to the other side, and his hand joins Minho’s around Thomas’ dick, slick with come and easing the movement. And Thomas closes his eyes and nods his head again.

“ _Please_ ,” He says as if barely aware he’s even speaking.

Newt kisses him, and Minho knows he can taste the come in Thomas’ mouth. He pumps his hand a little faster and sucks at the neck in front of him.

Thomas is bucking up into their hands already. His own clutch _desperately_ around each of them as if he can barely stay upright, so they lower him to the bed and continue their attentions while leaning over him.

“Tommy, it’s time to come for us now.” Newt breaks the kiss to tell him, smiling as Thomas tries to follow his mouth with his own. “Come on.”

Minho brushes a thumb across the tip of Thomas’ dick, and Thomas arches forward, cries out, and comes at last. It spurts across Minho’s hand as he pumps him through it, and Newt watches with the happiest smile on his face until Thomas falls back against the bed again, breathing heavily, a grin splitting his own face in two.

For a moment, they stay in silence, catching their breath, eyes sparkling.

“Feel better, Minho?” Thomas asks.

“Yeah,” Minho smiles back at him. “You guys are okay.”

“What happened to ‘I love you’?” Newt teases.

“It comes and goes.” Minho says, smirking. “We’ll see how I’m feeling in a few minutes.”

“You dumb shank.” Thomas laughs, pushing back into a sitting position again and nudging Minho with his elbow. Minho just jabs him back, too contented to put much energy into it.

“It’s getting light out.” Newt looks toward the window. “We should probably go and shower.”

“Good that.” Thomas agrees. He hops down off the bed, Newt following.

Minho fixes his eyes on their backs as they pad barefoot toward the door. He stays where he is for a second, face soft, and then climbs off after them.

“Um, guys,” He calls.

They turn to face him, picking up on the sudden seriousness in his voice.

“Yeah, Minho?” Thomas prompts.

“I do love you, you know?”

“Yeah. We know.” Newt reaches out a hand for him and Thomas follows suit. “We love you too.”

Minho smiles, and they guide him to the bathroom.


End file.
